


Apropos

by raiast



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Choose Your Own Ending!, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, He's just a bit stressed okay?, M/M, Smut and Feels, Will Graham Finds Out, Will does NOT have encephalitis, Will is a killer, season 1 AU, violence and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-09 09:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18914023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiast/pseuds/raiast
Summary: Will finds out at an inconvenient time and is forced to talk his way out of a bleak situation.





	1. Chapter 1

Awareness returns to Will slowly, his eyes blinking open blearily. Only darkness greets him. His head is pounding, his body aches. He moves to shift himself, to stretch out his cramped and burning arms, and meets resistance almost immediately.

What--

Oh. _Oh._ Right.

He nods instinctively as his last memories return to him, stopping immediately when it only exacerbates the throbbing in his skull. Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper; a rather untimely revelation as it was, having had come to him while in the presence of said killer. It was too sudden, too mind-bogglingly obvious--Will couldn’t mask his surprise, couldn’t stop the recognition flash through his eyes.

One minute he was sipping his wine, watching Hannibal prepare their dinner and the next, like an idiot, he was commenting on the irony that both they and the Ripper were dining on kidneys that evening, if the previous day’s tableaux and missing organs had anything to say about it. He stopped mid-sentence, as if that weren’t an obvious enough indication, and then instead of trying to play it cool, Will’s eyes flew from the kidneys in the pan to the liver pate next to him, to Hannibal.

Hannibal, who shifted from host to hostage taker with such freakishly alarming speed that Will had no hope of stopping him. It’s no wonder the Ripper has gone on for so long uncaught, with reflexes like that. Will supposes he should be happy that he’s waking up at all, even if it _is_ in the dark with a pounding headache.

“Han--” he attempts, falls into a coughing fit when his sore throat seizes on the syllable. “Hannibal!” he tries again. “ _Hannibal!”_

Will sighs, abandoning his attempts. Wherever Hannibal has put him, it is very unlikely that he--nor anyone else--can hear Will’s yelling. He decides instead to take this time to reflect on this new information.

Hannibal being the Chesapeake Ripper is so glaringly obvious in retrospect that Will is entirely embarrassed he didn’t see it sooner. Affable, charming, intelligent; those are definitely words that describe Hannibal Lecter. Words like ‘surgical precision’ and ‘anatomical knowledge’ flash through Will’s mind. Hannibal has spoken more than once of his days as a resident surgeon. Christ, he stuck his hands into Silvestri’s butcher job on the fly and _still_ managed to save the victim’s life. A little too quickly, too effortlessly, for someone that was so long out of practice--even if that person _was_ Hannibal Lecter.

_I transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts…_

Will lets out a raspy laugh at the memory, his black humor cut short by the turning of his stomach when he recalls every meal served to him by Hannibal. He’d always found the man’s penchant for offal interesting--interesting but not alarming, attributing the quirk to the man’s exotic background.

Okay. He’s eaten people. A staggering number of times. Will takes a deep breath in through his nose, quashing down the instinctive nausea that roils in his belly. It’s a fact that he is going to have to come to terms with, assuming he lives long enough to get to that point. He knows that his next thought is an entirely inappropriate one, but he can’t help but feel some consolation in the facts that, one, he’s obviously not the only person that Hannibal has served this way and two, at least Hannibal is a really excellent cook. If one is to unknowingly eat human meat the most you can really hope for is that it goes down easily, after all.

He wonders idly how Hannibal would choose to serve him but cuts that line of thinking off quickly. It’s too dark a thought, even for Will.

He’s not sure how long he sits in the dark before he hears the quiet shuffle of feet descending a staircase, and then all at once the lights above him flicker to life and Will has to squeeze his eyes closed at the sudden shift. He blinks them open again slowly, tries to ignore the stainless steel around him and focus his gaze on Hannibal, who has come to a halt before him.

“I apologize,” he begins, “I had hoped to be here when you woke but I had an errand to run.”

His tone and demeanor is closer to that of a friend who is arriving late to dinner than that of a man that put him in a chokehold until he passed out and then chained him in the basement.

“Hannibal--”

“I suppose you’re wondering what comes next. If I’m to be quite honest with both of us, I must admit that I’m not quite sure.”

“Hannibal,” Will tries again, is again ignored.

“It would certainly be wiser to kill you and be done with it. I’m certain I could twist old Uncle Jack’s mind into believing that you had simply had enough and dropped off the map--”

“ _Hannibal_ ,” he pauses finally, at Will’s insistence. “You don’t have to do this.”

Hannibal regards him quietly, the edges of his lips twisting up ever-so-slightly in that mostly human non-smile he has. “I didn’t take you for one to begin spouting cliches in the face of death. Will you next declare that I won’t get away with this?”

He’s _teasing_ him. Will is annoyed enough already, he doesn’t need Hannibal getting him any more incensed, or he may run his mouth in the wrong direction and seal his fate all the faster. To avoid this happening, he does the first thing that comes to mind to get Hannibal to shut up: he tells the truth.

“The Syracuse Strangler,” he spits out. Hannibal’s head tilts nearly imperceptible, as it does when he finds something interesting. “Gemini. The Dentist.”

“All serial killers of the East coast. Is there a particular reason you are giving me their names?”

“All killers that stopped killing. Why do you think that is, Hannibal?” Will pulls against his restraints as he attempts to sit up straighter, relieve some of the pressure on the arms bound above him; his right shoulder in particular aching badly, already compromised from past injury. “You think they just got bored and decided to stop? All three of them decided to hit the road and take their acts somewhere else?”

Hannibal moves then, shifting closer to Will, dropping to his haunches so that they are eye to eye. “What are you saying, Will?” his voice is quiet, curious.

Will meets his gaze, staring defiantly into the sanguine eyes in front of him. “I killed them,” he admits, is pleased when Hannibal’s eyes flash with interest. “Jack had me study them and I learned who they were and I killed them.” His heart races with the admission; he never planned on giving anyone such power over him, but this is his last bargaining chip. If Hannibal sees Will for what he is, perhaps he’ll rethink killing him.

Hannibal studies him for a moment before standing up, stepping away. When it becomes apparent that he plans to leave Will chained to the wall, Will panics.

“Do you think I’m lying?” he hisses; he couldn’t really say why he feels offended at Hannibal’s indifference. The question has Hannibal pausing, at least, buying Will more time. “The Syracuse Strangler’s name was Alvin Ferrera. I strangled him with my belt. Not very imaginative, I know, but it felt poetic.”

Hannibal turns back to him at that, his nostrils flaring as though he could scent if Will was lying or not. Knowing Hannibal, he probably could.

“The killer known as Gemini was one Eric Stratton. He went crazy when his twin brother was murdered, decided that all twins needed to understand the profound loss he felt. I had to break his neck; the spry little shit nearly gutted me with my own knife. I slit the Dentist’s throat. Uninspired, but honestly the dude creeped me out so much I just wanted to be done with him. His name was--”

“Timothy Rusk,” Hannibal supplies. His steps are drawing him back towards Will, albeit slowly. “He was a former patient of mine. When I read about the modus operandi of the killer known as the Dentist I suspected strongly that it was Timothy at work. I was quite surprised when he fell quiet--from what I knew of his mental state I anticipated that he would continue to escalate until he was caught. He didn’t seem the type to stay out of police custody for very long.”

He’s dropped back to his haunches before Will again, his cold eyes flitting over his features; reading him in a new light, perhaps. Will twitches his bound wrists weakly. “And you already know about Hobbs. Reactionary, I’ll grant you, but a kill nonetheless. If you’d given me more than two seconds to process earlier I could have told you that all this wasn’t necessary. You gonna let me out now?”

Hannibal’s head tilts, a small smile forming on his lips once again. “You know that I’m the Chesapeake Ripper,” he states. When Will only stares at him in response, his dark eyes glint with amusement. “By your own admission, you are a serial serial killer killer,” Hannibal points out. Will can’t help but let out a snort at that; how Hannibal managed to say it with a straight face he’ll never know. “I would think it to be in my best interest to keep you restrained, lest you fall prey to your compulsion and attack me.”

Will snorts again, genuinely amused. The man _does_ have a point, but… “Of the two of us, who do you think would win that fight?” Hannibal stands, leaving the question unanswered. He doesn’t need to answer it, they both know that the victor would be Hannibal. And he doesn’t appear to wish Will dead quite yet.

When the danger of his retreat is imminent, the prospect of staying bound to the wall in the dark until Hannibal chooses to come calling again likely, Will plays his last card. It’s not something he particularly wants to admit to himself, let alone to Hannibal, but the time for coy coquettishness is done. Either this dance ends, or Will does.

“There’s a difference between The Chesapeake Ripper and all those other killers,” Will tells him. He blinks up at Hannibal, unmoving and, as yet, unmoved. He doesn’t ask what the difference is; he knows Will will tell him. “I wasn’t in love with any of them,” he hates the softness in his voice. Someone like Hannibal doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve Will’s affection.

But you can’t control with respect to whom you fall in love. It was over for Will when Hannibal climbed into that ambulance and stuck his hands into a dying man and created life, when he called Will his friend and told him that his life was more important to Hannibal than all the one’s Will saved.

When he walked into that bleak, sterile hospital room and found Hannibal Lecter asleep in a chair at a bedside while machines beeped and buzzed around him, a sleeping girl’s hand wrapped in his own.

Hannibal has yet to walk away, which Will deems a good sign, but his expression has not shifted from that blank, calculating stare, and he has made no outward sign that Will’s declaration has affected him.

“I can forgive the murders,” he states quietly, “and the tableaux, because they are, ultimately, beautiful. I can even forgive the fact that you fed me human meat without my knowledge, even though it’s a pretty dick move.” That one is a surprise even to himself, unaware of it until the words have left his lips. “But I can’t die without you knowing the truth.”

Hannibal bends before him for a third time, and Will wants to weep when one strong hand comes up to glide through his curls.

“I love you,” Will sighs as Hannibal tilts their mouths together. He feels the tension drain from him as Hannibal’s lips meld with his own, sighs a bit more heavily when their tongues push out to meet each other. A whole different type of relief flows through Will as he discerns that Hannibal is reaching into his pocket, slipping a key into the manacles that chain his wrists above him.

As soon as he is free, Will lunges forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choose your own adventure time!
> 
> For HAPPY: Proceed to Chapter 2  
> For NOT SO HAPPY: Proceed to Chapter 3
> 
> (Hannibal's errand was to go feed Will's puppers)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations! You have chosen HAPPY ENDING. Prepare for smut, you heathen.

As soon as he is free, Will lunges forward.

Hannibal’s hands tangle in his curls, keeping their mouths together as their kiss gains hunger, desperation, simultaneously pulling Will forward until he’s forced to clamber into Hannibal’s lap to press as close as he can. They bite at each other’s lips, battle each other’s tongues, pant into each other’s mouths.

Will’s hands become claws that grip at Hannibal’s jacket viciously, tugging and twisting it away from his body until Hannibal finally relents and releases his hold on Will’s hair to shrug out of the article. When he’s accomplished that, his hands return to Will, this time to begin working at the buttons down his shirt. Will wants to laugh at the man’s self-control; he knows the only reason Hannibal isn’t tearing the thing from his body is because it’s that blue one that the doctor likes so much.

They are both half-bare before Hannibal seems to recall where they are. “I’ve lubricant upstairs,” he breathes into Will’s neck between laying love bites to his throat.

“That’s nice,” Will pants in response, his previously sure hands beginning to shake and fumble with desire as he works at Hannibal’s belt. “I don’t much feel like moving.”

Hannibal lands a particularly sharp nip that makes Will’s entire body seize with desire; he’s not sure if he’s ever been more aroused in his life. “Stubborn boy,” he chastens with a growl against his skin, then immediately runs his tongue along the curve of Will’s collarbone. “What am I to do with you?”

He grabs Hannibal’s shoulders, plows his body weight forward to push him to the ground. When it appears that the man is going to allow this, Will shifts off of his body to kneel between his legs and tugs the trousers he’s been working on loosening (and the briefs underneath them) down and off. Saliva floods his mouth at the sight of Hannibal’s cock, thick and full, and he can’t hold back his groan as he falls forward to take it in his mouth.

The moan that is pulled from Hannibal’s throat only incenses Will further, and he swallows Hannibal’s stiff length until he gags, hands turning to claws at his hips to hold him down when they instinctively buck up at the sensation.

Hannibal is hot, musky and leaking steadily; a salty bitterness that Will wraps his tongue around to taste every time he pulls back. His own cock is heavy with arousal, aching with need and still trapped within the confines of his slacks. Every time he gets another strong taste of the man below him, every time he buries his face into his crotch and is immediately flooded with his scent, every moan, sigh, whisper of noise that falls from Hannibal’s mouth, Will’s cock throbs with desire. He’s torn between reaching between his legs to give himself something to grind against and adding his hand to the equation of dick plus mouth to push Hannibal over the edge.

Will is delighted to remember that he has two hands and does both.

It is appropriate that Hannibal is a killer like himself, he decides, even though their methods (and victim pools) are vastly different. Since they met, there has always seemed to be a certain symmetry between them. Even now in their unbridled desire, this little death, they mirror each other perfectly. For as soon as Will gets a hand on either of them, they meet the edge and fall. Hannibal’s release floods Will’s mouth as his own floods his pants, and he would be embarrassed about that except there is absolutely no way that Will could have listened to his name falling off of Hannibal’s tongue in mutual agony and worship and  _ not _ come undone. He is certain he’s never heard a sweeter sound.

He pulls back, panting, his tongue swiping out to clear his lips of any remnants of Hannibal he may have missed before.

Hannibal is panting as well, doesn’t appear to wish to move from where he’s sprawled out on the floor. All he can do is lift a hand to snare Will’s wrist, pull him forward until he’s laid out along the line of Hannibal’s long form. “I’m going to have to teach you some patience,” he informs Will. His voice is low, raspy, his accent thicker than usual.

Will grins down at him, dips to press their lips together in a brief kiss. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”

In the whole of his life, Will is certain he has never felt as much as he does now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm on tumblr now.](https://raiast.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have chosen NOT SO HAPPY ENDING. Why did you do that? You must be a glutton for punishment.

As soon as he is free, Will lunges forward.

His weight knocks Hannibal back from his haunches to land squarely on his ass. His hands turn to claws in the doctor’s impossibly soft hair, clinging tightly in an attempt to somehow simultaneously keep him still and pull him closer. Their chests are glued together as Will climbs into his lap and presses close, deepens their kiss to explore every inch of Hannibal’s mouth, take in every taste. He will let himself have this because he can; for this moment, these few seconds, he can.

It is everything he’s wanted for months. Every barrier between them dropped, every emotion laid bare. They are together and touching and the moment Will finds himself wishing that it never has to end, he knows it must. His hands clench a bit more fiercely in Hannibal’s locks and for a single breath perhaps the older man puts it to the heat of the moment, to the endless depths of Will’s passion. And then his hands jerk back, wrenching their lips apart, and Will is surging forward once more to bring Hannibal to the ground completely.

He uses the momentum to throw the man’s head into the hard floor beneath him, but Hannibal’s body seizes up at the last moment, works the muscles in his neck to fight back and soften the blow. Will continues to press forward, his hands releasing the tufts of hair he’d claimed and moving immediately to the thick neck beneath him. It was impulsive, not well planned; Will knows this. He wasn’t bluffing when he’d declared Hannibal would have the upper hand in a fight. He’s not surprised when Hannibal capitalizes on the fact that his arms are free.

Even as he attempts to choke him, Will can’t help but marvel at Hannibal’s instinct and skill. He can see why the man has, for so long, been able to overpower those he hunts. The instinctual drive to survive would normally be kicking in right now, in any other person, and their hands would fly up to attempt to pry away the constriction at their throat. Hannibal does no such thing. Instead, he throws one hand up to capture Will’s own throat, having bent down too close in his attempt to add pressure to the major arteries of his neck. If he can get a good seal on the blood flow Hannibal will grow dizzy soon, blackout not long after that.

Hannibal’s other hand manages to pull a scalpel, though Will has no idea if it’s come from his suit jacket or trouser pocket. He twists his hand and swings his arm once, twice into Will’s side. Will grits his teeth against the pain, doubling down on the pressure he’s applying, forcing his hands to clench tighter in reaction rather than loosen. It’s uncomfortable, certainly, but the short blade of the scalpel does little more than penetrate the fat and muscle of his intercostals. The third swing is a thrust  _ up _ rather than  _ into, _ the blade sinking into the tender, vulnerable flesh of Will’s armpit.

He can’t help it, then, his whole body jerks back in retreat, and before he can recover Hannibal jerks his head up to make contact with Will’s nose, sending another shock of pain through him and blinding him with the tears that spring reflexively to his eyes. He’s disoriented then, the room spinning, and then he realizes that _ he’s _ spinning, because Hannibal has used the few seconds of his advantage well and has twisted them around so that the hot line of his body is pressing Will into the cold floor beneath him.

He does not make the same mistake as Will, capturing his wrists with one strong hand and wrenching them above his head. Will cries out at the strain, his muscles screaming in protest after having been so similarly abused while he was chained to the wall. His other hand has the scalpel to Will’s throat and Hannibal snarls above him.

“Why?”

Will breathes through the pain, forces himself to open his eyes and meet Hannibal’s fiery gaze. “Because I love you,” he explains, and with the fresh blow to his nose still stinging it’s easy to pretend that the tears that slip down his cheeks aren’t what they are. “Because if I let myself I would follow you to the end of the Earth and lose myself in the process.”

He can see a muscle twitch in Hannibal’s jaw as he grits his teeth, his nostrils flaring as he breathes heavily through his nose. “You know me;  _ see _ me,” Hannibal speaks at last, and more tears yet slip from Will’s eyes when his voice comes out low, rough with emotion that his face still refuses to show. “I could have given you a rare gift.”

“I don’t want it,” Will points out. “I want you,” he does admit; after everything, it’s easy. He wishes it had been so easy months ago, so that he may have known what it was to have Hannibal before he knew the truth. How easy it would have been then, to consign himself to that dark oblivion if things had happened in a different order. But they didn’t. And he can’t. “But I don’t want to  _ be _ you.”

The mask fractures ever so slightly, eyebrows twitching down into as much of a frown as Hannibal will allow.

“It’s okay,” Will assures him. And then his lips twist into a sad smile, because despite his own refusal there  _ is  _ a gift that he can give Hannibal. He tilts his head back, lifts his chin to expose his neck further, stares into his eyes to tell him one more time that he loves him.

And Hannibal must love him in return, because he takes another moment to assure him that Alana will take care of his dogs, and when Will’s mouth pulls into a wider smile, Hannibal draws a second one across his throat.

Will barely feels a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm on tumblr now.](https://raiast.tumblr.com)


End file.
